I WILL RETURN TRIUMPHANT
by Inky8Fingers
Summary: There is a disturbance in the catacombes of the palace, and alanna must once again fight the one who hurts her heart.Oneshot... please review, i like reviews...


I WILL RETURN TRIUMPHANT 

**Disclaimer:** The only character I own is Robert, but the rest belong to... get this...TAMORA PIERCE.

The air began to sing as it whirled and whipped at Roberts hair and clothes, his loose white shirt pressing against his skin to show his muscled form acquired from his four years as a page. He stood in the catacombs of the royal palace, the ground at his feet flaunting the pattern of the magic gate as a woman would her best jewels, but even more surprising was the sword that stood embedded at the centre of the gate, about a quarter sticking in the ground, showing the other three quarters of its metal blade that had a grey twinge that wasn't because of the metal, its battered crystal hilt glowed with a warm light. Robert couldn't help but walk towards that beautiful weapon, his feet burning were they touched the re-awakened magic gate, but he couldn't care less. All he could hear was the sound of the sword singing, calling to him, pleading to be free, all he could feel was it making his brain pulse inside his scull. He placed his callused hands on the wire wrapped hilt and felt totally at ease as he stood there, comfortable in the grip of lightning, but it was all shattered when thinking he would take the sword for his own he pulled it from its moorings in the stone floor. There was a grinding noise and rays of blinding white light shot from the ground where it connected with the sword, the brilliant white light blinded Robert in his left eye making him scream in pain as his eye was rendered useless, he tried frantically to pill his hands away but his skin was stuck to its wired hilt, Robert openly sobbed as he tried and tried to free himself from its powerful grip. "Please..."he whispered, his voice wasted on screaming and crying.

At last the light began to fade, and the swords grip began to loosen on his hands, he would have cried with relief if their had not been a ghostly, transparent green man standing in front of him, or if his eyes were all dry of tears. The mans skin was decayed and peeling off, but for some indescribable reason it was renewing itself until their was a perfect image of a man in his early thirties wearing black clothes fashionable about 25 years ago. "Thank you, Robert of Eldorne, your family was always so obliging, just like your grandmother, you have been sucked into my little world, my little, godless world that always seems to be ended by that merciless cross dressing witch. But this time she can't defeat me. It's a shame they hung Delia for treason in the end, she was so beautiful, and it seems you have inherited her looks. And it is, I admit, sad that you have to die, but there can only be one person to witness my... revival, and she is watching now, but it has only just dawned on her that this isn't a dream, she should break free of the magic sleep in about 10 minutes so I better get a move on" and with that he pulled out a blade to match his ghostly green completion from a sheath at his side and plunged it into Roberts belly, Pushing it all the way in until only the hilt could be seen. Robert stumbled and put a hand on the hilt to try and pull it free but found his hands passed straight through it, he glanced down at his blood stained hands and shirt, watching as the blood spread onto his maroon breeches, almost un-noticed in the closely matched colours of dye and blood. When he looked up again to see the ghostly man smiling madly his face clouded over with shock, hat and disgust, all mixing together to give a new name to emotion. Robert coughed suddenly, spurting blood out in front of him, but instead of it hitting the figure before of him, it passed straight through. Robert let out a blood curdling war cry and coughed again, spurting out more blood, his breath growing weaker and weaker, until he finally slipped into a puddle of his own blood, at the ghostly figures feet, his heart no longer beating and his shaggy brown hair no longer moving with the boys breath.

Roger put one ghostly foot on the boy's body and extracted the blade with ease, like a knife passing through butter; it made a satisfying squelch that probably would have made any human being wretch. He slid the sword back into its sheath at his side and looked at the ceiling, he grinned and shouted, "Guess what Alanna! I'm back! And this time I'm UNSTOPABLE!!!" He started laughing like a mad man, his screeching laughter bouncing all around him on the walls of the part of the palace he had been trapped in for so long.

Alanna sat up in bed so violently that she rolled it, waking up her husband George as she whipped the blankets off with her. "Alanna? What's wrong? Are you ok?" his voice only just penetrated the thick wall of worry, hate, revenge and blood thirst that surrounded her just now. "What's wrong? What's wrong, you ask... He's back, Roger's back" she shouted, followed by a thick stream of curses in common, scanran, Yamani and some indescribable language George didn't understand. Alanna untangled herself from the blankets she was trapped in and lifted herself of the floor, she picked up her breeches and started yanking them over her well muscled legs, not bothering to change from yesterdays loin cloth, then she grabbed a breast ban, quickly wrapped it around herself and grabbed a clean shirt. Once that was done and she stood there in black breeches, black shirt and black boots, she slipped on the chain mail her friends had bought her for her eighteenth birthday, washed in gold and studded with amethysts it matched its belt perfectly. Then came her weapons, as she shoved a small battle axe into the back of her belt and clipped her sword onto her belt she yelled, "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO KILL THIS BASTARD BEFORE HE RECIEVES THE MESSAGE THAT THE DEAD STAY DEAD!?!" with that she stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that it swung back open, leaving George with a view of Alanna storming off down the hall with her plain black leather sheath swinging at her side, she quickly pulled on gauntlets that matched her chain mail, tied back her hair with a piece of string and stomped round the corner in search of the new and improved zombie Roger.

George sat there for a moment before yanking on some clothes, clipping six knives to each wrist, one in each boot and one at the small of his back, along with his own sword attached to his belt. Once he was finished dressing he ran out of the room down the hall and burst into the kings bedchamber. The king, of course, was furious at having his privacy disrupted but swore so graphically no one would have recognised him as the king, when George explained. Raoul and Gary were much the same, and when they reached the catacombs their group numbered seven. Along the way they had grabbed Numair and Daine (who were already awake and dressed as they had sensed something wrong pretty early), and Buri who had insisted on helping when they told Raoul.

What they saw when they got to the catacombs was something they would all remember, as they ran down the steps to find the body of Robert of Eldorne's bloody

body in a heap at the bottom. But most astonishing of all was the trail of glowing green blood that lead into the depths of the royal palace's own underworld...


End file.
